She touched the almost-melted flake and looked up at him. “For tonight,” she said, so quietly that he had to strain to hear her. “For tonight, I’ll take it.” And then she added to herself, Because I do love you, Sam.
Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t that Katie believed in omens, but while she was getting ready for her last dinner with Sam, her room shook suddenly, and then the picture of Jason and her fell off the dresser, shattering the glass. Was it a sign, she asked herself, a sign that she shouldn’t marry Jason? No, that was silly.
She sat on the bed with the broken frame in her hand and looked at the picture. They had been happy then, and she had been content with Jason. Would she be content now? After knowing Sam? The picture was shaking in her hands. She put it down, but her hands continued trembling. She clasped them together and then buried them in the blanket. They had to stop shaking. Sam was waiting for her downstairs and they must not betray her.
She looked in the mirror and the face that stared back at her was dull, lifeless, as though something terrible had happened. She wiped at her eyes. Something terrible has happened, she thought. It’s all over. Sam and I… tomorrow… tomorrow! No, she wouldn’t think about tomorrow.
“Oh, Sam!” she cried out to the empty room. “If only things were different.” Then she smoothed down her dress and straightened her shoulders. She had to look composed and in charge of her emotions. She took another look in the mirror and rubbed at her cheeks, hoping to put some color in her face. She took a deep breath and started to the door. “This is it, Katie, one last night with Sam,” she said aloud, wishing that the night would be over quickly and also that it would never end.
She met him in the hall near the dining room. He took her hand and held it, trying to smile, but unable to. Just the way he said it made her want to weep: “Our last night, Katie-Katie. And then it’s good-bye.”
“Don’t, Sam,” she said. “Don’t talk about it now.”
Inside the dining room, she sat in the chair at the window table where they had had their first dinner. It was almost as if he had arranged it purposely. “This is going to be difficult for us,” she said.
“We have to talk, Katie. We just can’t let this happen. We just can’t walk away from each other and do nothing.” He moved the vase with a red silk rose to the side of the table. “We have to make one more try to sort this out. I can’t lose you like this. Can’t just let you go.”
She looked through the window at the mountain. “There are some things you can’t undo, Sam. I can’t be the kind of woman who will just pick up and go around the world for you. Nor can I be the kind of woman who will sit quietly and wait until you show up on Friday, or once a month. I need more than that. I once told you that the only thing I had in common with my mother was my eyes. I was wrong. I want security, like she wanted it. I need it too.”
Sam held her hand and ignored his meal. “There must be some compromises. Life’s made up of compromises, Katie.”
She shook her head sharply. “Not on this. I just can’t see any. Oh, Sam, there doesn’t seem to be any answer for us.”
“Sometimes we have to create new kinds of answers. Can you honestly say that you don’t love me?” He watched the expression on her face and she knew that he saw her answer. He continued: “Can you truthfully say that you don’t want me and that you’d rather marry Jason? That you’ll have a better and happier life with Jason? Katie, tell me that you don’t love me,” he said again. “Go on, say, ‘Sam, I don’t love you. I love Jason.’ ”
She shook her head. “You know I can’t, don’t you? You know…” She stopped, fearing that any sound from her lips would betray her. She heard the band in the next room, the cabaret, begin an old country and western tune and the lyrics played in her memory. Something about the heartbreak of a woman. The end of a romance, the end of a love and she wanted to yell to the bandleader to stop playing the song, to stop mocking her. She didn’t need words and music to remind her that her heart was breaking.
“I don’t like that song,” she said.
“Something to recall. When you hear it again, you’ll remember me, us, and this night.” Sam held her hand tightly, and she kept her wrist rigid, not wanting to move it away from him, wanting him to hold her hand forever.
He looked at their untouched food. “I’m not very hungry,” he said.
“Neither am I.”
“Let’s go somewhere—anywhere.” He looked out the window at the few flakes that were coming down from the cloudy sky. “It’s snowing again. Probably the last storm of the year.”
“No, not outside.” She didn’t want to be completely alone with him. She knew that he had the power to persuade her to change her mind.
He pushed back his chair and looked down at her. “I want to hold you in my arms, Katie,” he said simply. He gestured toward the cabaret. “I’ve never danced with you. I want to dance with you. I want to hold you in my arms for as long as possible.”
They danced through three sets of songs—holding each other tightly, clinging to each other, not speaking, not questioning, just accepting the music and the rhythm and the moment. He held her gently yet firmly, and she wanted to nestle within his arms, dance languidly so that they would always touch. She wanted him to keep his arms around her forever. She had wanted it from their very first moment on the dance floor, when he put his hand on her waist and then on her shoulder.
She put her head on his shoulder, thinking that she was happy here within this protected circle, and wanting the music and the night and the dance to last forever. She heard a woman’s laughter from nearby, and then, when a man happily shouted a phrase, the knowledge that other people would enjoy life after this evening filled her with an overwhelming sense of loss and chased away the brief moment of joy. Did the other dancers know that her heart was breaking, that she was saying good-bye to love before she had really ever said hello?
Sam’s fingers pressed into her back. “Ah, Katie,” he murmured in her ear, “this can’t be the end of us. We can’t be the characters in some ballad. We’re more than that.”
He was right, of course. “Tell me what to do, Sam,” she quietly cried out to him. “Tell me what to do.”
He shook his head. “I wish I could. I could tell you—I could ask you—to come away with me. But that wouldn’t be any good. You have to make up your own mind. You’re the one who has to decide.” He kissed the top of her head. “Because if I tell you, if you don’t do it on your own, then we don’t have a chance. You might resent me later on and I’d always wonder if you were happy.” He kissed her hair once more. “But know that I do love you.”
All around her she could hear the laughter, and the heartrending music flowed through the room, but it was as if it had all been filtered through a curtain, because the sounds were now dull, and only Sam’s unhappy voice remained clear. She shuddered and looked up at him. It seemed as though, suddenly, the music overpowered them, and the focus changed, and the curtain lifted so that now she clearly saw his mouth move, and she watched the way his lips were formed as they spoke unheard words of love to her. The way he held her close to him, almost as though they were one, told her more than any heard and spoken pledge ever could that he loved her.
Finally, through the haze of sound, she heard him say quietly, “Let’s get out of here.”
They walked along the path to Magic Mountain. They were both quiet, and when they heard a distant bell toll eleven times, she kicked weakly at the packed snow, knowing that the day, their last full day, was almost over.
“There’s nothing more I can say, Katie. I think—I’m sure that you’ve made up your mind.”
“Yes. I can’t help it, Sam. This is all so different, so new. With Jason…” She stopped and began again: “I’ve never felt quite like this before.”
“And you’re afraid of it, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “My life was so neat and orderly before you came along.”
“And that’s the way
you want it, isn’t it?” He picked up a handful of snow and threw it at a tree, turning the dark bark a frosted white. “You know, it all used to be so simple for me too. I would fly from a city without thinking twice. There was nothing to hold me back. But now, every time I move on…”
He left the sentence unfinished, but she knew what he wanted to say. “I can’t ask you to change professions, Sam.”
“And I wouldn’t be happy changing.” There was his truthfulness again. He wouldn’t lie even to win her and that made her wince and love him even more.
They walked silently to the base of the mountain and paused there to observe the skiers at the top. They heard the distant bell strike again.
Sam took her hand and began to lead her back to the Crest. “It’s the witching hour, Katie,” he said, putting his arm around her.
She heard the last of the twelve rings and he held her apart from him for a moment before he kissed her with gentleness and passion. “Remember me, Katie-Katie. Remember me,” he said before letting her go.
She nodded and stood there, pain circling her heart and coursing through her body. “I will, Sam.” How could I ever forget you? she wanted to cry out, but she remained there mute. She wondered if he could tell that she was hurting inside, that she was wishing all sorts of crazy thoughts, wishing that he would just sweep her away and take her with him. Convince me, Sam, she kept crying silently. Convince me that I shouldn’t pay attention to all the should do’s and must do’s in my life and, just for once, think with my heart. Tell me that I won’t make a mistake loving you. Convince me that I can go with you and l can put all those memories of only weekends with my father behind me. Persuade me that you need me as much as I need you.
Oh, yes, it was true. She loved him, but it seemed so impossible now. Oh, Sam! she thought. I don’t know what to do. Help me, Sam, and if not, then, my love, convince me that I don’t love you . . . that I’ll forget you someday, and this will only be a dream for me to remember on long, cold winter nights.
Chapter Twelve
Sam was to leave early in the morning and Katie had told him that she would meet him before breakfast for one last time, but when they parted that last night she knew that she would never see him again. She had lied about their meeting once more.
“In the morning,” she had said, and then had taken one long, last look at him as he walked away from her. She remembered calling out his name, and how he had turned around, smiled, and thrown a kiss to her. He had repeated her words, “In the morning,” and she had bent her head in agreement. Afterward, as she closed the door to her room, she knew that it was the last time for them. It would be too painful to say good-bye in the morning in front of all those other people. This had been a better and easier way for both of them. There would be no tears for him to see or for her to feel. This was a private grief, and she didn’t want to share it with other vacationers in the dining room. No, this was the only way. No use in prolonging the pain. Better to get it over with as soon as possible.
Now she sat in the chair in her room, opposite the small alarm clock on the nightstand. Suddenly it was six and then seven and now nearly eight o’clock. She had been up since early morning. Actually, she hadn’t slept, and had only tossed on the bed, recalling and reliving the wonderful moments with Sam throughout the entire week.
It wasn’t easy to stay in her room. Her heart told her to go to him, knock on his door, tell him yes, she would go away with him. But her pragmatic side warned her that things could go wrong. She would have no security, and only a part-time husband. In the end, her practical side won, and she remained in her room, picking up and putting down the phone, walking to and from the door.
She could picture Jason in his science lab. Sometimes, on her free period, she would be in the next room, doing her class plans, and she would be able to hear his steady voice explaining the properties of a gas or warning about the effects of certain chemicals on the environment. She would be comforted then, knowing that they would be together. Jason was really a very good person.
But now thoughts of Sam kept getting into her mind. Sam laughing. Sam winding a music box. Sam throwing a snowball. Sam kissing her. When she closed her eyes, it was no use; Sam’s face appeared even in the dark recesses of her mind. Think, think, think, Katie, she told herself. Think of Jason.
She looked at the clock again. Sam had probably had breakfast, had probably realized that she wasn’t coming down. She looked at her cell phone. It was odd that he didn’t call her. No, it wasn’t odd at all. No doubt he knew that she wouldn’t be there for breakfast. He knew enough about her and her ways to surmise that that was what she had in mind. But it was curious that he didn’t at least try to contact her.
Nine o’clock. He would be getting ready to leave now—the van was to depart for the airport soon. He was taking a ten-o’clock flight to New York and then he’d be back to the routine of working two weeks overseas and then two in the United States. And everything would be back to the precise way it was long before they had ever met. He would go on with his life, making trips, working with computers, and she would be back in the classroom teaching English.
She walked to the window and looked out at the mountain. Funny, it was the same window she had looked out when she first arrived, in expectation of another wonderful time, another skiing vacation of relaxation and fun. Last week, when she stood here with those happy thoughts, she had had no premonition that someone would enter her life so quickly and change it so radically.
She looked down and saw the maroon guest van in front of the Crest, waiting for the passengers to board. She moved to the side of the window and watched, hoping for a glimpse of Sam. When, finally, he emerged from the Crest, he remained standing there with his luggage, and her heart seemed to leap from her breast. “Sam!” she cried involuntarily, and she was glad he couldn’t hear her.
She could see him clearly. He was wearing his black jacket and was hatless. He appeared unhappy and uncertain. He turned around and looked nervously over his shoulder toward the Crest several times. She knew that he was looking for her, searching the groups of people who appeared at the door to the lodge, waiting for her to come. And when the doors of the van opened and the passengers got in, he hesitated and was the last one to enter.
He turned once again at the door and looked up at her window. She stepped back quickly, afraid that he had seen her. But then he swung his luggage onto the rack on the top of the van, climbed inside, and even through her window she heard the muffled thud of the door closing. She saw him look one last time from the side window, and then she watched as the van slowly made its way past the Crest to the main road.
She took a shallow breath. It was finished. Their week was finally over now. There would never be another day of skiing with him… another meal to be enjoyed together… a time to laugh with each other. Looking down at the empty place where the van had been, she felt a gnawing pain invade her heart, and she clenched her hands. Was this the way it should have ended? Surely some sort of a phrase or even a gesture should have signaled the end. Romances just shouldn’t be allowed to die so quietly. She leaned her head onto the cold windowpane, and not knowing how to ritualize the end of a romance, she touched her fingers to her lips and threw a kiss after the van. “To what might have been, my Sam, my wonderful Sam,” she murmured.
She stood there until the last moment, following the journey of the van until it disappeared out of sight. She was surprised when she felt teardrops spill over onto her cheeks and then down her face and upon her lips. She hadn’t known she was crying.
She wiped at her eyes, but the tears didn’t stop. Finally she lay down on her bed and let the tears flow unrestricted. Sam was gone from her life, gone forever. One brief moment for tears was certainly allowed. This evening she would go home to Maryland and there would be no more tears for what might have been.
Chapter Thirteen
Irene stopped by after the first class. “I don’t know about you,” she said, “but I
had a wonderful time last week. I did nothing but lie on the beach and just listen to the ocean. It was glorious.” She held out her arm to show Katie her tan. “No kids to ask questions, no X’s and Y’s to explain, and no papers to grade. It was marvelous. And what was it like in the snow country?”
Katie frowned. She still hadn’t made up her mind whether to tell anyone about Sam. The whole episode—the whole week—was still too confusing for her. It was much too painful for her to speak of him or to even think of him sometimes. Home for two days, she had seen Jason twice, but still hadn’t adjusted to the fact that she was Katie Jarvis, English teacher at Southern High, and that at Cedar Crest she had had a romance with a wonderful, wonderful man. If circumstances had been different, she wouldn’t be here, teaching Shakespeare and Swift.
The second-period class was drifting in. “I’ll tell you later,” she said to Irene. Maybe she’d be able to explain it all so that at least Irene could understand.
“Uh-oh! That kind of answer usually means it was either so terrible you don’t want to talk about it or it was so terrific that it shouldn’t be talked about.” Irene squinted her eyes. “Which one was it?”
Katie shook her head. “We’ll talk later, when there’s more time.”
“We’ll talk at lunch,” Irene said.
Later, in the teachers’ cafeteria, Katie dawdled with her food as she debated whether to tell Irene about Sam. Why not? Irene was probably the only other person in the world who would understand.
“The one bad thing about getting away from all the kids and teaching is that you have to come back,” Irene was saying. “But then again, what else would I do? Don’t get me wrong—I really love it here, but there are days I’d rather be somewhere else.” She pushed her coffee away. “Okay, Katie, tell me about your vacation. Did you have a good time?”
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